Falling, a story for the Giraffe Call
Jan. 17th, 2013 08:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aldersprigFor kelkyag's prompt
I remember falling.
They'll tell you I can't have possibly remembered anything. They'll tell you that I was too young.
They'll tell you there wasn't any falling involved. It was a one-story house, and the windows were low to the ground.
But then again, how did a 2-year-old survive when nobody else did?
I've never wondered.
They'll tell you that was because I was too young to have formed attachments. They'll tell you that's because I don't really remember my family.
They're going to tell you a lot of shit about me. And you're going to listen, aren't you? Because you're the grown-ups. And I'm a kid.
But I remember falling. I remember the first fall. The second fall. I remember every. Single. Time.
They put me on a train at the end of the autumn. Comes this time every year. The families can handle me in the spring, in the summer. But when the leaves start to change, they get nervous.
I can't say I blame them. All they have to go on is stories, after all. Whispers. The things that they're told, the lies that they're fed to comfort them. But even the slimiest grown-up knows, somewhere, when they're being lied to.
So they put me on a train. City to country. Country to burbs. Burbs to... well, where am I going this time?
And what have they told you about the fires?
I remember falling.
But I remember flying, too. The flying always comes before the falling. And the fire comes in between.
And they'll tell you I don't remember anything at all.
kelkyag's promptI remember falling.
They'll tell you I can't have possibly remembered anything. They'll tell you that I was too young.
They'll tell you there wasn't any falling involved. It was a one-story house, and the windows were low to the ground.
But then again, how did a 2-year-old survive when nobody else did?
I've never wondered.
They'll tell you that was because I was too young to have formed attachments. They'll tell you that's because I don't really remember my family.
They're going to tell you a lot of shit about me. And you're going to listen, aren't you? Because you're the grown-ups. And I'm a kid.
But I remember falling. I remember the first fall. The second fall. I remember every. Single. Time.
They put me on a train at the end of the autumn. Comes this time every year. The families can handle me in the spring, in the summer. But when the leaves start to change, they get nervous.
I can't say I blame them. All they have to go on is stories, after all. Whispers. The things that they're told, the lies that they're fed to comfort them. But even the slimiest grown-up knows, somewhere, when they're being lied to.
So they put me on a train. City to country. Country to burbs. Burbs to... well, where am I going this time?
And what have they told you about the fires?
I remember falling.
But I remember flying, too. The flying always comes before the falling. And the fire comes in between.
And they'll tell you I don't remember anything at all.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 03:05 am (UTC)(I like it.)
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Date: 2013-02-04 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 03:37 am (UTC)